Even though I don't really enjoy the frosty cold on my fingers, I like the definition of the seasons (no tropical living for me), but winter has sure been tardy this year.
When the great sun has turned his face away,
The earth goes down into a vale of grief,
And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables,
Leaving her wedding-garlands to decay -
Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses.